In the final instant before darkness swallowed his vision, Zhao Kuo saw the forest of Qin spears and halberds. Beneath the black standard bearing the white character “Bai,” a figure clad in black armor gazed at him from afar.
A mile separated them. A mountain of corpses and a sea of blood lay between them.
At the moment their eyes met, Zhao Kuo understood that look.
It held neither hatred nor contempt.
Only calm. Indifference.
Like a craftsman inspecting a nearly finished clay figurine, checking whether its form was even and its glaze pure, before gently placing it in the kiln to await its final firing.
So, in the other man’s eyes, his entire life had been no more than a painstakingly crafted sacrificial offering in this grand ritual.
